


Many Waters

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-02
Updated: 2006-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8746483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam and Dean face off against a ghost in a luxury hotel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_**FIC: Many Waters - NC-17 - SPN**_  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Title:** Many Waters  
 **Summary:** Sam and Dean face off against a ghost in a luxury hotel  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim  
 **Warnings:** Wincest  
 **Thanks to:** my amazing betas, [ ](http://nyxfixx.livejournal.com/profile)[**nyxfixx**](http://nyxfixx.livejournal.com/) and [ ](http://moondagny.livejournal.com/profile)[**moondagny**](http://moondagny.livejournal.com/)  
 **Notes:** Entry for the [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/rocksaltwhores/profile)[**rocksaltwhores**](http://community.livejournal.com/rocksaltwhores/) High Society Challenge. Hugs also to [ ](http://adelheide.livejournal.com/profile)[**adelheide**](http://adelheide.livejournal.com/), who has patiently been waiting for bathtub fun.  
 **Crossposted:** [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/wincest/profile)[**wincest**](http://community.livejournal.com/wincest/), [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/sn_slash/profile)[**sn_slash**](http://community.livejournal.com/sn_slash/), [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/snslashnotebook/profile)[**snslashnotebook**](http://community.livejournal.com/snslashnotebook/), and [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/supernaturalfic/profile)[**supernaturalfic**](http://community.livejournal.com/supernaturalfic/)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Many Waters  
  
  
  
“Hey, Sam. I just figured out where we’re going to take our next vacation.”  
  
Sam looked up from his breakfast. “Our _next_ vacation? Have I been missing something? Because I didn’t realize we were traveling around the county from one vacation hotspot to another.”  
  
Dean thrust a folded-up newspaper under Sam’s nose. He’d circled an article in red. “Look, there.”  
  
Sam took the paper, mainly to keep it out of his eggs. “Many Waters Resort and Spa… We can’t afford something like – oh, come on, Dean, a haunted hotel? It’s probably just a gimmick to get customers.”  
  
“That’s what I thought at first, too. Keep reading.”  
  
“All right… violent poltergeist activity, blah blah blah, ghostly visions, blah blah – oh. Dead guests?”  
  
“No one would run an ad like that if it were just for a publicity stunt,” said Dean. “Well, they might, but not a place like that. Run-down rattraps looking for business, maybe. But nice, old, charming hotels trying to attract upper-crust clientele? Not so keen on the dead bodies piling up. _And_ they’re offering two weeks stay free to whoever gets rid of their ghosts.”  
  
“But, Dean…”  
  
Dean sighed. “Yes? What more do you need?”  
  
“Do you have any idea how many quacks, fake psychics, and just plain con artists are going to show up? This is the sort of thing that will attract them like buzzards, like those jerks we met in Texas, the ones who put the so-called ‘Hell House’ on their website.”  
  
“All the more reason that the hotel people will need our help. They’ll need the real deal, not a bunch of freeloading mouth-breathers.”  
  
Sam bit his lip. He looked once again at the newspaper.  
  
“C’mon, Sam,” Dean urged. “Think about it. _Two weeks._ Pop a few ghosties, exorcise the local baddies… most of the time, we do the hero thing, and then we book. This time, we stick around, and get two weeks’ vacation in the lap of luxury.”  
  
“I don’t know,” said Sam.  
  
“It’s a _spa,_ Sam. Think about it. Free massages! And if we hit the road now, we can be there by nightfall. C’mon, what d’you say?”  
  
Sam looked up. “Waitress? We’re ready for our check now.”  
  
  
~  
  
  
The hotel was on top of the largest hill for miles; they’d been able to see it long before they actually arrived. When they pulled into the parking lot, there were a half-dozen cars already there.  
  
“I kinda expected to see Dad’s truck,” said Dean.  
  
“With his short fuse? It’s just as well not.”  
  
“Be funny as hell to see him deliver tongue-lashings to all these idiots, though,” said Dean. “Remember that bogus medium in Tulsa when we were teenagers? Now _that_ was funny.”  
  
Sam grinned. They got out of the car, and headed for the entrance; parked in the porte cochere in front of the massive doors was a brand-new, custom AMG Mercedes.  
  
“Sweet ride,” murmured Sam. He put his hand on the hood.  
  
“If you like that sort of thing,” sniffed Dean. “You couldn’t fit jack in the trunk, and it probably breaks down every two hundred miles.”  
  
“It’s owned by a phony psychic from L.A.,” Sam announced. “She charges five hundred an hour to clients she knows she’s ripping off. She’s only here to make sure it’s a publicity stunt, and then she’s coming back with her camera crew. And she’ll be out here in five… four… three… two…”  
  
The hotel’s massive wooden doors burst open. A woman in a fur coat, screaming at the top of her lungs, came racing out, headed straight for them.  
  
“Get away from my car!” Tears were streaming down her face; she was breathing hard. She shoved Sam away from her car, flung open the driver’s door, and practically dove in.  
  
“Guess the ghost is real, then,” said Dean. He waved to the woman. “Have a nice drive back.”  
  
As the Mercedes peeled out of the parking lot, Dean turned to his brother. “How’d you do that? Psychic stuff, or did you see something through the window?”  
  
Sam shook his head gently. “I just – I touched the car, and it told me all I needed to know.”  
  
“Dude, that’s freaky.”  
  
“Yeah, well, getting psychic powers all of a sudden wasn’t my idea.”  
  
Dean patted him on the back. “C’mon, let’s get inside.”  
  
Dean didn’t use words like ‘exquisite,’ unless he was making fun of someone. So when he saw the inside of the majestic old hotel, he didn’t murmur with understated appreciation. Instead, he said, “God _damn._ ”  
  
“’S nice,” Sam agreed.  
  
“Pretty,” said Dean. “Marble floors and stuff. Nice staircase.”  
  
“Oak. Or mahogany.”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean looked down at the floor. “Bet it feels nice to walk around barefoot on that carpet.”  
  
“Rug,” said Sam. “Persian, probably.”  
  
“Whatever. Nice, though.”  
  
They both looked up at the sound of approaching voices. A motley group of people appeared at the top of the massive carved wooden staircase, arguing amongst themselves. One or two seemed to be crying.  
  
“Here comes trouble,” muttered Dean.  
  
One of the people looked down, and saw the brothers. He pointed, and yelled, “GHOSTS!”  
  
An assortment of flashbulbs went off. Both Sam and Dean raised their arms, trying to protect their eyes from the flashes.  
  
“We’re not ghosts!” shouted Dean. “We’re humans, just like most of the rest of you.” The flashbulbs tapered off, and the brothers lowered their arms again.  
  
“Most of them?” whispered Sam. “Do you think one of them is a vampire or something?”  
  
“Well, that one guy looks kinda ape-like,” Dean whispered back.  
  
“I’m sure it’s just a medical condition.”  
  
“Or, not,” said Dean. “I’d love to have a pet monkey.”  
  
“You’re the last person I’d trust with a monkey.”  
  
“What are you talking about? I’d take great care of him! I’d get him those little diapers, and I’d teach him to change them himself. And to wash his hands. Then I’d teach him to get me beers, and shoplift my favorite kind of gun oil – ”  
  
“My point exactly,” said Sam. “You’d be a horrible influence on a monkey.”  
  
They heard a gentle coughing sound; the brothers turned, and saw that a woman had separated from the rest of the group and was standing in front of them.  
  
“Sorry, ma’am,” said Dean with a bright smile, “I never had a dog growing up.”  
  
“Who _are_ you people?”  
  
“I’m Sam, and that’s Dean,” said Sam. “We’re here to help.”  
  
“Oh, _really?_ ”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” said Dean. “And unlike those idiots” – he pointed to the group behind her – “we know what we’re doing.”  
  
The woman gave a frustrated sigh. “Dear God, I _hope_ so!”  
  
  
~  
  
  
The brothers weren’t able to get a coherent story out of anyone, but that was because most of them were in as much of a hurry to get out of the hotel as the fake psychic had been. When the exodus was over, the only people left were the hotel owner, Sam, Dean, and two would-be ghost-hunters.  
  
There was very little chance of getting anything coherent out of either of the wannabes, however. One of them – to Dean’s delight – was the ape-like man, but he didn’t talk, or at least didn’t talk much. The other, his partner, talked a lot, but was just generally incoherent.  
  
“I hate hippies,” Dean muttered to Sam.  
  
“I don’t think he’s actually a hippie,” said Sam. “Yeah, he’s wearing tie-dye – ”  
  
“ – and hasn’t bathed in a month – ”  
  
“ – but he doesn’t subscribe to the hippie aesthetic.”  
  
“What are you talking about? He’s stoned!”  
  
“But he’s also completely apolitical,” said Sam. “I doubt he knows who the president is.”  
  
“That’s the acid. Or the pot. Or the paint thinner.”  
  
“Airplane glue,” said the monkey-man.  
  
“Dude,” said Dean. “Can’t you keep him away from that?”  
  
The monkey-man shrugged.  
  
All four of them were sitting around the kitchen table; the woman who owned the hotel – Joan – had led them back there after the others had left. She was at the stove, heating up milk for cocoa. She was in her early forties, but looked older; stress and exhaustion. A little sleep uninterrupted by bloodcurdling screams, Dean decided, would help a lot.  
  
Joan poured steaming hot milk into mugs, and dumped in generous amounts of powdered cocoa. She gingerly set the mugs on a tray, and joined her guests at the table.  
  
“So,” she asked as she handed the brothers their mugs, “what are your qualifications? Have you ever encountered supernatural phenomena before?”  
  
“Practically our whole lives,” said Dean. “We were raised doing this stuff.”  
  
“Really?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Some of the brave adventurers who just went tearing out of here were also ‘raised doing this stuff’.”  
  
“The difference,” said Sam, “is that they were lying. We’re not.”  
  
“Ghosts are so… _so_ ,” said the hippie. “They’re right there, in your face. They always tell the truth.”  
  
“Interesting,” said Dean. “So, what’s your favorite color?”  
  
“Cheese.”  
  
“Riiiiiiight,” said Dean. “Cheese. Great color.” He turned back to Joan. “Why do you let him stay here?”  
  
She shrugged. “He’s the only person who hasn’t cut out on me yet. Well, and… him.” She gestured toward the monkey-man, who grunted in affirmation.  
  
“It’d help to know what we’re dealing with,” said Sam. “Different supernatural entities respond to different kinds of tactics.”  
  
Joan sighed, and leaned back in her chair. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” she said.  
  
“Why don’t you start with whatever happened when we came in?” suggested Sam. “Those people looked pretty terrified. Was there an attack?”  
  
“In a way…”  
  
The brothers exchanged a glance.  
  
“Look, Joan,” said Dean, “we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on. What did you see?”  
  
Joan sipped some of her cocoa. “I first opened this hotel three weeks ago. I bought it for a steal – old but gorgeous, just in need of renovations. I suppose that should have made me suspicious.”  
  
“So you did a lot of tearing things down?” Sam asked.  
  
“I know,” said Joan. “Everyone says that’s what awakened the spirits. But it’s not like I can put everything back in place. And I’ve sunk so much money into this project…”  
  
“So, you opened three weeks ago…” Sam prompted.  
  
Joan nodded. “I was successful right off the bat. This is a great location, there’s a lot of history here, and of course, it’s one of the most luxurious hotels ever built. So I had quite a few guests. And the first night…”  
  
She shut her eyes tight, as if trying to shut out a memory.  
  
“What happened the first night?” asked Sam gently.  
  
Joan let out a little sob, and opened her eyes again. “One of my guests was murdered. There, in the second-floor hall – we all heard the screams, and of course we came running. There was this man standing over her with a bloody knife. Somebody shouted, and – and he just vanished into thin air.”  
  
“Cops must have loved that story,” said Dean.  
  
“They believed it,” said Joan softly.  
  
“That’s a bad sign,” said Dean.  
  
“So what happened just now, when we came in?” asked Sam.  
  
“It was – it was like an instant replay,” said Joan. Her voice shook a little. “The guest, running down the hall, screaming… the ghost, chasing her, stabbing her… the blood, everywhere…”  
  
“So an old ghost, but a new victim,” Dean said thoughtfully. “That’s… rare.”  
  
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Repeaters – ghosts who do the same thing night after night, or on anniversaries – are usually harmless. They can be scary as hell, but they don’t go after the living – they just re-enact the same thing perpetually.”  
  
“And that’s not the only thing,” said Joan. “I’ve seen – I’ve seen _myself_ running down the hall, screaming for help.”  
  
“Now that is… novel,” said Sam.  
  
“You’ve never seen anything like it before, have you?” asked Joan wearily.  
  
“No, we haven’t,” said Dean. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t deal with it. Hell, you wouldn’t believe half the stuff we _have_ seen. And I’ve never walked away from a fight as the loser yet.”  
  
Joan gave a little smile. “I hope you still feel that way in the morning.” She sighed, and stood up. “It’s late. I’ll get you settled into your rooms.”  
  
“We’ll bunk together,” said Dean quickly.  
  
“Safety in numbers,” added Sam.  
  
“Numbers smell like cheese,” said the hippie.  
  
“No, that’s you,” snapped Dean. “Our room won’t be near his, will it?”  
  
  
~  
  
  
Their room was down the hall from the hippie’s. But even if it had been right next door, Dean wouldn’t have cared. Their room was… it was…  
  
“Phenomenal,” said Sam after a while.  
  
“Gorgeous,” Sam said a little while later.  
  
“Breathtaking,” Sam added.  
  
Aside from the fact that it was decorated in shades of blue, it was the girliest room Dean had ever seen in his life, but he didn’t care. There were two queen beds, each four-posters (carved teak, Sam announced), draped with hangings (silk, according to Sam, who was apparently taking some kind of inventory). Dean dropped on the bed closest to the door and kicked off his shoes.  
  
“Ahhhhhhhhhh,” said Dean, lying down. “This place is _sweet_. Was I right, or was I right?” He stretched out on the bed. “Hey, there’re chocolates on the pillows!”  
  
“I love this antique writing desk,” Sam said. “It’s Queen Anne style, and it might even be from the period. Oh, get a load of this fireplace!”  
  
“You want your pillow chocolate, Sam?”  
  
“Hell, yes! See these tiles around the grate? These are hand-painted. I think the base is Italian marble. Oh, the mantle is carved alabaster!”  
  
“What, was there a special course in interior decoration at Stanford?”  
  
“No, but there are these fabulous things called ‘books’ with all sorts of information. Some of them even have pictures.”  
  
Dean snorted.  
  
Sam opened the door to the bathroom, and gasped.  
  
Dean sat up quickly. “What is it? Ghost?”  
  
“No,” said Sam, his voice nearly a whisper. “Come here… look.”  
  
Dean rolled off the bed, and went to Sam’s side. Sam stood in the bathroom doorway, looking stunned.  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped. “It’s almost as big as the bedroom,” he said at last. “I think it’s bigger than the Impala.”  
  
“Twice as big, easily,” said Sam. He stepped in gingerly, as though he were expecting the marble floor to be an illusion. Dean finally gave him a little shove, and followed after him.  
  
It was more of a cathedral than a bathroom, but in place of an altar was a massive bathtub of pink marble, set into a floor of the same material. It dominated the room.  
  
Sam sat on the edge of the bathtub. “This thing is four feet deep, easy,” he announced. There were separate taps for hot and cold water, on long elegant handles. He turned on the cold water, let it run over his hand.  
  
“Scented soaps,” Dean announced. “But better than the stuff we usually see, even if it is girly.”  
  
Sam nodded, but didn’t answer. He shuddered involuntarily, and rubbed his head.  
  
“Hey, there’s a whole _box_ of chocolates over here,” said Dean. “Joan really goes all out, doesn’t she?”  
  
Sam didn’t respond. He shut off the water, and turned to face the bathroom door.  
  
“Do you think we could get room service?” asked Dean. “I haven’t had dinner. Or should we just head down to the kitchen and make sandwiches?”  
  
Sam was silent: his attention was focused on the bathroom door.  
  
Dean patted him on the shoulder, and reached for the box of chocolates. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Sam, but that door is gonna win the staring contest.”  
  
The door slammed shut.  
  
“Or, not,” said Dean.  
  
“I shouldn’t be able to do that,” said Sam.  
  
“You’ve moved bigger.”  
  
“Yeah, when I was under incredible stress. I haven’t been able to move a damn thing since. And I’ve never just _touched_ something the way I did with that car earlier.”  
  
Dean sat down on the edge of the tub next to his brother. He plopped one of the chocolates into his mouth. “So your powers are intensified here.”  
  
“Exponentially, I’d say,” said Sam. “It’s like I’m tapping into a battery. It’s really strong right here – I felt it almost as soon as I walked in.”  
  
“Maybe that ‘battery’ is what’s causing all the other weird stuff, too,” said Dean. “Stick a strange source of psychic energy into the middle of a haunting, and who knows what you can get?  
  
“That’s what I’m thinking. But I’ve never heard of anything like this before. What about you? Is there anything in Dad’s journal?”  
  
Dean opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a horrifying scream. He and Sam exchanged a look. “Yeah, we should probably check on that.”  
  
  
~  
  
  
It was Joan who was screaming. The brothers opened their bedroom door just in time to see her go running past, sobbing, begging for help. Then she disappeared into a wall.  
  
They stared at the wall. Then, in unison, they turned their heads in the other direction. Joan was standing outside the door to her room, looking upset. The hippie and the monkey-man tumbled out of their rooms. The hippie teetered over. The monkey-man shook his head, and dragged him back into his room.  
  
Dean turned back to Sam. “We were in the bathroom,” he said. “Behind two closed doors. We shouldn’t have been able to hear that.”  
  
“I don’t think we could have, if the screaming wasn’t part of a haunting.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “What the hell kind of place is this, where people haunt themselves?”  
  
Joan – the real one, though Dean felt the urge to grab her arm to make sure – came down to their end of the hall. She had her arms folded across her chest in an effort to keep from shivering, though it wasn’t particularly cold.  
  
“You see?” she asked. “Have you got any idea what’s going on?”  
  
“We think you’ve got some kind of psychic ‘battery’ here,” said Sam. “It’s intensifying all of the experiences.”  
  
Joan stared at them. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“Most hauntings are the result of intense emotional experiences,” Sam explained. “It can be anything – terror, fear, sorrow, loss, even love. Those emotions leave a sort of impression, and if they’re intense enough, or if enough build up over time, it can create a haunting. It’s a sort of emotional residue.”  
  
“That’s where most of your standard repeaters come from,” said Dean. “Poltergeists are violent spirits who actually want to do harm, but what we just saw wasn’t a poltergeist.”  
  
“I know,” said Joan. “It was _me_.”  
  
“And what’s unusual about it is the fact that you’re alive,” said Sam. “Most living entities can’t impress their emotions deeply enough to create a haunting, except at the moment of death.”  
  
“And that’s where the battery theory comes in,” Dean said. “You’ve got some _force_ here that is amping up everything that happens. It lets a repeater ghost kill a guest, and it gives an apparition of you enough force to run down this hall over and over.”  
  
“So what do we do about it? I mean – can you fix this?”  
  
Dean and Sam exchanged a look.  
  
“We’ll try,” said Sam. “Listen, I’m not sure how to explain this, but I had this strange experience in the bathroom. I, uh…”  
  
“Sam’s psychic,” Dean interrupted. “Mostly little stuff. But since he got here, he’s Captain Clairvoyant. That’s why we think it’s some kind of battery – it’s affecting him, too. And something in the bathroom triggered another episode, just now.”  
  
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Is there anything you can tell us about the bathroom? Anything unusual?”  
  
Joan bit her lip. “Not really. Only…”  
  
“Only what?” prompted Sam. “It may seem insignificant to you, but it could be really important.”  
  
“Well, that bathroom was pretty damaged – just decay, you understand. I had to replace a lot of the hardware. I was worried at first that I wouldn’t be able to find things that matched, but it turned out there was a whole supply of fixtures here at the hotel already.”  
  
“Where is this supply room?” asked Sam.  
  
“In the basement.”  
  
Dean heaved a huge sigh. “Why don’t people ever store things in the solarium?”  
  
  
~  
  
  
“It’s always the basement,” grumbled Dean as he made his way down the stairs. “Always the damn basement.”  
  
“Not _always_ ,” said Sam. “Remember that haunted greenhouse in Ohio? The one where the playful spirit kept smashing all the glass panels by the medical marijuana?”  
  
They reached the basement floor.  
  
“Yeah, mister hippie man would have loved that place. But I don’t know if I’d call that spirit _playful_ ,” said Dean. “I’m the one who got showered in glass, remember?”  
  
“At least there’s a light in this basement,” said Sam.  
  
“Who are you – Pollyanna?”  
  
“I’m just saying it could be worse.”  
  
The lights went out.  
  
“Like that,” said Sam.  
  
“Well, now that the good times are over…” said Dean. He dragged his flashlight out from his jacket pocket and switched it on. “So, what exactly are we looking for? Or is this one of those ‘I’ll know it when it leaps out at me and tries to rip my throat out’ moments?”  
  
Sam sighed. “I’ve got no idea what we’re looking for. I’m just hoping I’ll _feel_ it.”  
  
“Well, start walkin’, psychic boy. I got your back.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes.  
  
“Basement not dark enough for you, Sammy?”  
  
“Sam. And I’m trying to focus my energy.”  
  
“Waaaaaaay too long in California,” muttered Dean.  
  
“Yes, thank you, shut up now,” said Sam pleasantly. He inhaled, deeply, and tried to relax. He concentrated on _feeling_ , on _sensing_ … it wasn’t as though he had a lot of practice with these powers.  
  
He felt a sort of a tugging – not a physical sensation, but a sudden, strong desire to go in a particular direction. Dean had shut up as requested, but Sam could hear from his footsteps that Dean was still right beside him.  
  
He veered sharply, kept walking.  
  
He stopped, breathed in again… and was overcome by a sudden, intense headache. He dropped to his knees.  
  
“Sam? Sam, you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I – ”  
  
He broke off as the temperature in the basement dropped at least forty degrees; he could barely keep his teeth from chattering. He opened his eyes, saw Dean standing next to him, also fighting the effects of the sudden cold.  
  
“Okay,” stammered Dean, “’s cold, really fucking cold. So we must be getting close, right? Now what?”  
  
An eerie howling noise echoed through the basement.  
  
“I meant, ‘now what do we do’, not ‘now what’s going to happen’!” shouted Dean.  
  
The howling abruptly ceased.  
  
Sam laughed involuntarily. “Hard to say who’s more pissed off now, it or you.”  
  
“Me,” said Dean. “What’re you sitting on?”  
  
Sam looked down. “Cement – round, like a big plug or something.”  
  
“Foundation?”  
  
“No, the floor’s earth. For a wine cellar, I think.”  
  
“Laying down a little cement is a good way to hide a body,” said Dean.  
  
“Oh, yeah.”  
  
The howling noise returned, sending corkscrew shivers down Sam’s back.  
  
“We don’t need rock salt, we need a damn jackhammer!”  
  
“Actually,” said Dean, “what we need is to get out of this basement. Your lips are blue.”  
  
He grabbed Sam under the arm and hauled him to his feet. The noise turned into a shriek, grew painfully loud. Dean tried to say something, but even though he was shouting, his words were drowned out.  
  
They got back to the stairs – there seemed to be couple dozen sources of the shrieking now. They pulled themselves up, chased by the cold and the noise.  
  
They opened the door at the stop of the stairs. Dean turned around and shouted, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”  
  
It didn’t stop the noise, but it made him feel better.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Joan made coffee this time, then soup, then caught on that Dean was hungry and made several sandwiches as well.  
  
“You’ve got a body in the basement,” Sam told her.  
  
Joan shivered a little, although the temperature was normal in the kitchen. “This – this isn’t going to be like that movie, _Poltergeist_ , is it? There’s not a graveyard of pissed-off spirits under the hotel?”  
  
“No,” said Sam. “So far as I can tell, there’s just the one spirit, but it is _not_ happy. That’s not too uncommon in itself, but in this case, its power has been really intensified by the battery.”  
  
“So it’s the battery we need to get rid of?” Joan asked.  
  
“No,” said Sam. “I don’t think the battery is malevolent in itself. I think it just intensifies whatever emotion is strongest, and unfortunately, all those emotions right now are bad ones.”  
  
“What do you know about the history of this place?” asked Dean through mouthfuls of sandwich.  
  
“Well, right after it was built, it was hugely popular. People would come here to be cured of all sorts of things – infertility, consumption, even cancer. And so far as I can tell… it really worked.”  
  
“That sounds like the battery at work,” mused Sam. “In its neutral state, it tends to do more good than anything else.”  
  
“Were there any mysterious or violent deaths?” Dean asked. “In the past, I mean. Not, uh, the recent one.”  
  
“Not so far as I know,” said Joan. “At least, nothing for sure. There were rumors that a maid was killed, but they never found a body, and the police finally decided that she’d just run off with her boyfriend.”  
  
Sam exhaled sharply. “She was killed,” he said quietly. “That’s who it is down there – I’m sure of it. She feels… tortured. And I don’t think she realizes it, but she’s affecting the way the battery works.”  
  
“A lot of murder victims, the ones who don’t get justice, feel compelled to act out the crime over and over again,” said Dean. “It can be scary as anything, but normally they can’t hurt anyone. But in this case, because of the battery – ”  
  
“She actually recreated the crime,” said Sam. “That guest was a sort of stand-in victim, or maybe just in the wrong place at the wrong moment.”  
  
“And what about – what about me?” asked Joan. “Why am I haunting my own hotel?”  
  
Sam took another deep breath. “That moment we keep seeing, Joan… was that from the night of the murder?”  
  
Joan nodded. “Yes. I – I was just desperately trying to get help. I was so scared.”  
  
“I think it sort of resonates with her,” said Sam. “Someone begging for help, trying to stop a murder – I think it means something very personal to her. I think she’s playing that moment over and over again as a kind of call for help. And she can do that because she’s got the battery.”  
  
“So, if we lay this spirit to rest, will that cleanse the battery?” asked Dean.  
  
“It might.”  
  
“ _Can_ you lay her to rest?” asked Joan.  
  
They turned to her and stared in shock.  
  
“Dude,” said Dean at last, “it’s what we _do_.”  
  
Sam patted his arm. “Be nice and eat your sandwich, Dean,” he said. He smiled at Joan. “We’ll get started in the morning,” he told her. “We’ll have to dig the body up, but it’s under cement. Can you get us a jackhammer?”  
  
“Sure, I can rent one from the hardware store. But – there’s cement in the basement? It’s an earthen floor.”  
  
“Just in one spot.”  
  
A look of recognition crossed Joan’s face. “Oh, that spot! That’s an old well that they plugged up in the 1890s, I think.”  
  
Dean sighed. “An old well. Why is it always an old well?”  
  
  
~  
  
  
“I hope we can sleep the rest of the night.”  
  
“That’d be nice,” agreed Dean. He’d stripped down to his t-shirt and briefs, and climbed under the covers. The bed was ridiculously soft. He hadn’t slept on anything this fluffy since… well, since spending the night with Cassie in Cape Girardeau.  
  
Sam sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed. “How are the covers?”  
  
“Nice,” said Dean. “Warm.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Dean gave a little smile. “Not _too_ warm, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
Sam blushed – actually _blushed_ – a little. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. I don’t – I mean, I don’t feel like _doing_ anything, anything much anyway, but, well…”  
  
“Get in here,” Dean said. Sam smiled, and slid under the covers with his brother. They snuggled close.  
  
“Can you get the light?” asked Dean.  
  
Sam closed his eyes; there was a click as the lamp turned off.  
  
“I can’t decide if that’s handy or creepy,” said Dean.  
  
“Shut up,” said Sam.  
  
They slept.  
  
  
~  
  
  
The next morning, as Joan returned from the hardware store with the rented equipment, Sam pulled her aside.  
  
“Take a look at this,” he said, showing her a webpage on the laptop.  
  
She smiled. “Hey, it’s my hotel! I didn’t even know that was out there. Uh… it’s not on a site about haunted places, is it?”  
  
“Nah,” said Sam. “It’s about historic hotels. There’s something I want you to read. They reprinted the original brochure, from when the hotel was built in the 1870s.”  
  
  
 _The Many Waters Resort and Spa is built directly above the famed Lakota Miní Springs, renowned among the ancient shamans as a place of great vitality and healing. Many Waters taps into the Springs for all of its Aquatic needs, and offers the finest amenities available. Patients recuperating from illnesses of the body, psyche, and spirit alike – even those of the most delicate constitution – will find the waters and the very air itself most agreeable and conducive to good health.  
The Rooms are luxuriously appointed…_  
  
  
Joan shrugged. “So? It’s just advertising.”  
  
“Maybe,” said Sam. “But I think it means that the hotel site was chosen precisely because of the ‘battery effect,’ although they didn’t call it that. And since it was used to heal in the past, then I was right – the battery really _is_ harmless by itself. We cleanse the hotel of the evil that’s been left behind, and we should be fine.”  
  
“And I’ll be back in business,” said Joan. She sighed with relief.  
  
“Before you know it,” said Sam. He smiled.  
  
Dean stuck his head in the room. “Hey, Sam! Get a load of these safety goggles!”  
  
“Dean…”  
  
“Me first on the jackhammer, okay?”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
  
~  
  
  
The area of the basement floor that was covered in cement was about four feet around. The cement itself was over a hundred years old, and more than a century in damp, wet conditions hadn’t done anything to improve its strength. Dean found using the jackhammer fairly easy, all things considered.  
  
The other thing that had to be considered was the spirit trapped inside the hotel. The noise from the jackhammer did a pretty good job of covering the shrieking, howling noise made by the entity, but Sam was on constant guard duty, ready to keep an assault at bay. Sympathy for the ghost didn’t mean relaxing.  
  
The physical exertion also meant Dean didn’t really notice the supernatural cold.  
  
“Dean. Dean! DEAN!”  
  
Dean shut the jackhammer off. The shrieking noise had quieted for the time being, and there was no sign of the ghost in evidence. “What? Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine. I’m freezing. I want my turn on that thing.”  
  
“Awww…”  
  
“I’m serious, Dean.”  
  
“But I’m nearly through!”  
  
“Then you just made it easier for me to finish.”  
  
“Jerk.”  
  
“Cry me a river. And hand over the jackhammer.”  
  
“I call treasure.”  
  
“As if.” Sam took the jackhammer and the goggles; Dean took the shotgun. Less than a minute later, Sam broke through the center of the cement plug. He shut the jackhammer off, and he and Dean pulled away chunks of concrete by hand.  
  
Suddenly, Sam grasped his head and sat down hard.  
  
“Sam? You okay?”  
  
“It’s… this is definitely it.”  
  
“The battery? Or the source of the haunting?”  
  
“Both,” said Sam quietly.  
  
“ _Both_?” asked Dean.  
  
“I can – I can see it, Dean… like I was there… like it’s a memory….”  
  
Dean squeezed his shoulder. “Easy there. Slow down. Get a hold of yourself.”  
  
Sam breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly.  
  
“He killed her,” he said softly. “He killed her, and threw her body down – down into the well. But the well is ancient… it’s been the source of the battery for centuries. And when he threw her down there…”  
  
“He poisoned the well,” Dean finished quietly.  
  
“Yes,” said Sam. “And at the same time, he kept her spirit alive. He didn’t mean to, he didn’t know… but just as she’s changed the battery, it’s nourished her.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “If he’d put her body anywhere else, there might never even have even been a haunting.”  
  
Sam nodded. Tears welled up in his eyes.  
  
Dean stroked his brother’s hair. “It’s okay. We’re gonna help her rest now.”  
  
The howling noise filled the basement again; but it seemed softer somehow. It took on a staccato quality, grew quieter.  
  
“She’s crying,” whispered Sam. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. “All this time, she’s been pleading for help, and none came. Then all of a sudden, there were all these people here – and she was stuck reliving the nightmare of her death over and over…”  
  
Dean drew Sam close, held him tight.  
  
“She didn’t know how powerful she was,” Sam continued, his voice low. “She didn’t know that girl would be killed. She’s so sorry about that… she never meant for it to happen… she was just trying to show what happened to her…”  
  
“We’re gonna help her go now,” said Dean. “Can you talk to her Sam? Are her bones down there?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yes… she’s down there.”  
  
“Will fire work? Will we screw up the battery?”  
  
“No, no, it’ll be… cleansing.”  
  
“And is she good with that?”  
  
Sam paused for a few moments, then nodded. “Yeah, she’s good with it. She – she just wants to sleep.”  
  
“I got the stuff,” said Dean. “You just keep talking to her, okay? Keep her calm.”  
  
He shone his flashlight down the hole; he could just make out a few bones and scraps of cloth. Under the strange sound of the ghost crying, Dean could hear running water. Still, lime should do the trick. If not, they’d find another way. He emptied a sack of lime into the hole, and got out a book of matches.  
  
“Sam? Tell her we’re going to do it now.”  
  
Sam swallowed. “Okay… she’s ready.”  
  
Dean struck a match; it flared brilliantly. He touched it to some newspaper and dropped the burning paper into the hole.  
  
The fire hit the lime, and there was a burst of flame. First came a blue light, streaming out of the well; then the red-orange of the fire.  
  
The brothers sat, and waited, until the fire burned out. Dean slung his arm around Sam’s shoulders.  
  
At long last, the fire died. The crying had long since ended, and the sound of running water filled the room.  
  
Sam took a deep breath, and nodded. “It’s over. She’s gone. She’s at peace now.”  
  
“And the battery?”  
  
Sam smiled. “All clean.”  
  
Dean planted a gentle kiss on Sam’s cheek. “Good work there, little bro’.”  
  
  
~  
  
  
Joan was delighted. The first thing she did was to make good on her promise: the brothers got two weeks’ free stay in the hotel.  
  
The second thing she did was call a cab for the hippie and the monkey-man.  
  
“It’s been real,” said the hippie.  
  
“Whatever,” said the monkey-man.  
  
“I think I’ll fumigate those rooms,” said Joan after they left.  
  
Up in their luxury hotel room, Sam and Dean Winchester were in a good mood.  
  
“This place is really nice,” said Sam. “And it _feels_ nice, too. Like a sort of psychic massage.”  
  
“The way I see it,” said Dean, “it’s up to us to help implant nice memories in this place.”  
  
“Did you have something specific in mind?”  
  
“Well, this place is supposed to have healing waters, right? I say we give that bathtub a try. Leave some nice psychic impressions for people to look at.”  
  
Sam laughed. “We’d better hope Dad never stays here.”  
  
Sam sat on the edge of the tub. He turned the cool water on, and let it spill over his hand. “It was the water I felt all along,” he said. “Not some kind of residual impression from the faucets. The _water_.”  
  
Dean shrugged as he tugged off the last of his clothing. “Wrong reason, but it led us to the right place. That’s what counts overall.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”  
  
“How’s the water feel now?”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, slowly moved his fingers around under the stream of water from the faucet. “It feels… good. Healthy. Almost… almost _happy_.”  
  
“Glad to hear everything’s back on track. Now, are you planning to turn some hot water on, too? Because shrinkage ain’t exactly conducive to what I have in mind.”  
  
Sam grinned, and turned the hot water on too. “Don’t worry, I haven’t put the plug in yet. Hey, you want to hunt up some bubble bath? I’m sure there’s some in here.”  
  
“Nah,” said Dean. “I’ll just get distracted making bubble hats.”  
  
“Distracted from me? I’m heartbroken.”  
  
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Dean. “We’ve got two weeks here. We can try it both ways. But for now, what do you say we ditch the bubble bath?”  
  
“As a sort of control experiment?”  
  
“No, because it’s way easier to see what goes where without any damn bubbles.”  
  
Sam laughed. “Fine. No bubbles. This time.”  
  
Sam put the plug in, and they waited for the tub to fill. Dean sat down by his brother on the edge of the tub, slipped his arms around Sam’s waist. “This one was tough on you,” he said quietly. He dropped a gentle kiss on Sam’s nose.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Been through worse.” He tilted his head down; Dean raised his a little. They kissed, getting lost in the feel, the taste, the scent of each other’s lips.  
  
The kiss melted into a pause. Dean slid his hand into the water. “Mmmm. Just right.”  
  
He untangled himself from Sam long enough to stand up, and step down into the tub. He leaned back in the water, and laughed. “I think we could swim in here!”  
  
Sam climbed in too. He splashed Dean, and laughed as his brother tried to skid-swim backward. His giggles echoed across the marble. Dean surged forward, caught Sam in his arms, and pulled him in to another kiss.  
  
In between kisses, Dean tenderly stroked Sam’s face. “You’re right about something, you know,” he said quietly.  
  
“Oh, finally admitting it? And what might that be?”  
  
“I _would_ be a horrible influence on a monkey.”  
  
Sam threw his head back and laughed. Dean kissed his way down Sam’s throat, to his chest. Sam moaned softly, and Dean kissed his way back up again, more slowly this time. He put his lips by Sam’s ear, and whispered.  
  
“More than ready,” Sam whispered back.  
  
It was surprisingly easy in water; weightlessness and buoyancy made it easy to slip into position, easy for their bodies to fit together, easy for Dean to rock and tilt his hips, even without a mattress under them.  
  
They had plenty of time; and they took it, moving slowly, gingerly, gently, their shared object the sustaining of pleasure, not hasty orgasms. When they did at last climax (Dean first, then Sam), it was calm, almost hypnotic, but infinitely more satisfying.  
  
Tears streamed from Sam’s eyes. Dean rubbed them away with the pad of his thumb. “Sam,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam smiled, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Everything… everything is _right_.”  
  
Kissing Sam again, Dean couldn’t agree more.


End file.
